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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143725">Dissonance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereyofstarlight/pseuds/onereyofstarlight'>onereyofstarlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Music</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:29:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereyofstarlight/pseuds/onereyofstarlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil and EOS have a conversation about the connection between music and human emotion.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dissonance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="overlordraax.tumblr.com">@overlordraax</a> as a part of the EasterTAG 2020</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just sitting on the piano stool was enough to calm Virgil’s racing mind and fidgeting fingers after a long, hard day of rescues. A day when he was too caught up in heartache to concentrate on anything arduous, when all he could do was form the familiar chords with his hands and lean into them. He allowed them to ring, I … IV … V … I, first in C major, then in A minor, G major, F major – the same chord progression he had been acquainted with since he was a child, played over and over again.</p><p>Eventually, the music restored his soul enough to move on to scales and arpeggios, still friendly and familiar to his ear. A juxtaposition to the way he felt inside.</p><p>He needed more, the repetition that had been a soothing balm becoming tedious and filling him with anxiety. It matched the way his mind replayed the events of the day and he knew he needed to break free from the pattern.</p><p>Virgil began to perform.</p><p>An outpouring of grief, slow and soft, the sustained notes holding his soul aloft as he reflected on the mission. As tears gave way to anger, the music shifted, the tempo increasing as his breathing quickened, to rising crescendos and structured dissonance that he could pour his heart into.  The pitch rose as hysteria bubbled in his throat, his mind whirling as the musical phrase repeated again and again and again.</p><p>An electronic trill caught on the notes, discordant friction in the soundscape and changing the musical form he was sculpting out of melody and rhythm.</p><p>Virgil opened his eyes and glared at the holoprojector, the interruption ensuring he still felt jumbled up inside. There was no John hovering above the conversation pit however, just a ring of lights slowly orbiting in the air.</p><p>“I must request you stop this.”</p><p>Virgil’s sour mood took a turn for the worse as he stared at EOS. She didn’t know what she was asking, but his self-control was frayed and he couldn’t help the snapping response that fell from his lips.</p><p>“You can’t make me.”</p><p>The lights that marked EOS’s presence flashed and the holoprojector died. Virgil turned back to his music and if he banged on the keys a little harder than necessary, well, no-one was around to call him out on it.</p><p>“You must <em>stop</em>.”</p><p>He yelped and jolted backwards as EOS leapt into view in front of him over the piano itself.</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“You must.”</p><p>Virgil frowned. EOS was rarely so insistent on her perspective when it came to things she didn’t understand. Her primary function was to play, and although John tried to keep her contained, her drive to seek out novelty and experiment with new ideas meant the family was used to narrating their daily lives as she peppered them with questions.</p><p>This was not the kind of request EOS usually made.</p><p>Virgil closed his eyes, knowing he would need to put aside his own emotions for the time being.</p><p>“Can you explain further, EOS?”</p><p>Instead of replying, her image was replaced by a projection of Virgil’s own biometrics.</p><p>“Your blood pressure and breathing rate have both increased. I am detecting a loss of stability in your extremities and your hormone production indicate the inducement of severe stress in your body.” She paused, allowing Virgil to digest her words. “The only stimulus in the last hour has been your piano. You must stop.”</p><p>The emotion swelled inside Virgil, bitter on his tongue and his heart constricted. He looked past EOS’s display and returned to the familiarity of pounding scales. A placeholder only – and no way to allow the pain that rested deep in his gut to leech from his core, through his skin and out into the air. As long as EOS was there, it couldn’t be released. He didn’t have the words to explain to her what was truly wrong, couldn’t bear to battle over the precise meanings of grief and anger and pain.</p><p>“Virgil, please,” she said, her voice ticking up a by a perfect fourth as she spoke. Her tone was exact and unwavering most of the time, and Virgil knew the sudden change was an appeal of pathos – as much as EOS’s programming could allow.</p><p>His vision blurred as he continued to move his hands across the keys, plucking the various forms from memories of long ago. He ignored the watery, laboured breathing that accompanied his music, ignored the fingers that slipped off the black keys and soured the notes even more. Anything to ignore that creeping guilt that told him to explain to EOS what was wrong.</p><p> “Virgil.”</p><p>He opened his eyes in shock, staring at the brother EOS had gone to fetch.</p><p>“Are you okay? EOS said you were in distress.”</p><p>John looked confused, assessing Virgil quickly as he looked him up and down.</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“No,” said John, now frowning. “No, you’re not. Your stress hormones are off the charts.”</p><p>“I said ‘I’m fine’,” said Virgil. His voice reverberated around the room, mixing with the piano. There was no more energy for scales running up and down the keyboard. Instead harsh, angry notes grouped themselves together under his direction. He didn’t care about chord progressions or musical theory, he only cared about his emotions trapped inside being lanced from his soul.</p><p>“Virgil, calm down,” said John.</p><p>Clashing discordance rang through the room as Virgil slammed his hands down.</p><p>“Leave me alone, John,” he shouted. He could hear footsteps running towards the living room, and turned away. His eyes were burning from both exhaustion and the effort to keep back his tears. “Take your damn computer virus and leave me <em>be</em>.”</p><p>He stood abruptly, the stool falling backwards with a bang.</p><p>“That was Mom’s.”</p><p>“And now it’s mine,” snapped Virgil, the hot rush of anger painting over the hurt on John’s face.</p><p>He pushed past Gordon, who had skidded into the room with wide eyes.</p><p>“Get out of the way,” he muttered, trudging past him.</p><p>The silence followed him all the way to his suite.</p><p>“Virgil.”</p><p>He should have known she wouldn’t let it lie.</p><p>“EOS, not now, I’m…”</p><p>He couldn’t find the words. They stuck in his throat. He could hear the sound they made, the sharp staccato of rash anger, the modulation between grief and guilt. Without his music holding him together, he crumpled onto the soft sofa and let himself cry.</p><p>“Virgil.”</p><p>EOS could sweeten her voice when she chose, could shape it so that its melody became soft and smooth.</p><p>“I wish to make reparations for my actions.”</p><p>Before Virgil could reply, a jaunty rag played from his speakers. Bright syncopation and cheery colour exploded around him.</p><p>“Mute,” he snapped.</p><p>The music sat unresolved, weighing down his heart all the more.</p><p>“You can’t make me feel better just by playing a happy tune, EOS. People died today. You can’t just forget that.”</p><p>“You could not have done more.”</p><p>“I know.” Virgil sat up slowly, making eye contact with the holo. “But I wish I could have. And I know what their families are feeling.”</p><p>He shuddered, the old memory still recalling fresh pain. The seeping wound that he couldn’t heal no matter how desperately he painted over it, no matter how loudly he played to drown out the sorrow. And now a new family would learn to live with that.</p><p>Because they hadn’t been enough.</p><p>“You are upset again. I sought to change that. Music does not help.”</p><p>“It’s not about changing my feelings, EOS,” said Virgil quietly. “It’s about expressing them.”</p><p>“But people use music to influence emotion constantly.”</p><p>Virgil shook his head. “We convey emotion with music. People are just naturally empathetic.”</p><p>“Then why do you not empathise with this performance?” asked EOS. “If you empathised with it, you would no longer be sad.”</p><p>Virgil ran his hand down his face.</p><p>“Because I’m not in a neutral emotional state to begin with. It’s difficult to empathise with happiness when you’re already feeling upset.”</p><p>EOS was quiet.</p><p>“What about this one?” she asked.</p><p>Virgil closed his eyes as one of Chopin’s Nocturnes filled his room.</p><p>“Closer EOS,” he breathed. “That’s closer.”</p><p>He lay back and allowed the music to flow over him. As the notes died away, he could feel his emotional equilibrium begin to realign.</p><p>“Thanks EOS.” His eyes fell on the old upright piano that stood in the corner of the room. It wasn’t as nice as the grand in the family room, the paint chipping away and the white keys yellowed with age. But it had been his first piano, the one his mother had dragged into the house before they were all born.</p><p>“Was it enough?”</p><p>“No,” he said quietly, sitting on the piano stool. His fingers ran across the piano lid before he lifted it and he sighed as he picked out the familiar melody of another Chopin.</p><p>“It’s not your fault EOS,” he said, leaning into the music. “Listening has never been enough for me. You did help.”</p><p>The ring of lights shone green for a second.</p><p>“How can I tell the difference?”</p><p>“The difference between what?”</p><p>“Between the happy and the sad pieces?”</p><p>Virgil paused for a second, thinking it over.</p><p>“Why did you pick the first one?”</p><p>“I cross referenced the metadata that was attached to copies of the music on the holonet. They all recognised the piece as happy, or of synonyms of the word. The specific combination of rhythm and pitch hold no more significance than any other, and I have no experience to compare them with.”</p><p>A soft round of simple intervals filled the air.</p><p>“Can you hear the difference?”</p><p>“Of course. One pitch remains the same and the other changes.”</p><p>“No, no,” said Virgil. “Listen to how they interact, can you <em>hear</em> the difference.”</p><p>A major chord. A minor chord. Only one semitone between them, a half-step that painted the world in simplistic feeling.</p><p>The notes faded away. EOS remained silent. Virgil played the chords again, waiting for her response.</p><p>“They combine differently. The ratio of their wave frequencies are different.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“One produces a more complex sound. It has a higher frequency ratio.”</p><p>Virgil smiled.</p><p>“The more complex, the more dissonant. Usually.”</p><p>The notes repeated a few more times as EOS tried it out for herself using her own databanks. Virgil sat back, listening to her experiment. It reminded him of himself as a young child, banging enthusiastically on the piano. He wanted to make the same pretty sounds as his Mom, but at the same time, he just wanted to <em>play</em>.</p><p> “I don’t like that one.”</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>The sharp, sour notes of the tritone interval filled the room.</p><p>“Ah, yes,” said Virgil wincing. “Used to be called the devil’s chord.”</p><p>The implications of what she had just said caught suddenly on his mind.</p><p>“What do you mean you don’t like it?”</p><p>“It has a 45:32 frequency ratio. It doesn’t superimpose well. The sound is… dissonant.”</p><p>Virgil’s face split into a grin. “That’s what we hear too. Except we can’t describe it as accurately, so we assign emotion to it instead. How does it make you feel?”</p><p>“I feel…” EOS paused and the clashing notes silenced. “I feel unstable. I know the sounds that are easier to comprehend and I want to return to them.”</p><p>A number of artificially sped-up pieces flew through the speakers.</p><p>“Not all music follows this pattern.”</p><p>“Well, no,” said Virgil. “A lot of music is about expectation. What you think should happen next and whether or not that is fulfilled is an important part of the experience. Different cultures, different time periods, even different styles use different patterns in music.”</p><p>His hands sought out the modal scales he had been taught in high school, the first example that leapt to mind. Smiling, he launched into one of his favourite jazz pieces.</p><p>“Some styles will rely on dissonant intervals so much, they become normal to the ear. The more you listen, the more you’ll be able to identify the different types of patterns.”</p><p>The music ended with a flourish.</p><p>“But we’re talking about emotion, aren’t we EOS?” A new melody spilled out of him, the memory of its last performance itching at the back of his mind. “Without dissonance, the music is dull, it’s monotony and boredom and drudgery. Like a life where everything is perfect and you always get your way. Dissonance breaks the pattern, it create interest in the music.”</p><p>“The change affirms your turbulent experience in the world.”</p><p>“Exactly,” said Virgil. “It can reflect so much, the way we explore new ideas, how we take risks or grow from failure. Without dissonance, music would be nothing more than a predictable pattern and have no creativity or drive behind it.”</p><p>“No life. No emotion.”</p><p>“And if we cut it off, if we never bring the music home?”</p><p>The final notes hovered in the air and Virgil could almost see the way they floated next to EOS.</p><p>“I feel incomplete. Like I’ve lost something but I don’t know what.”</p><p>Soft arpeggios brought the music back to life. Virgil watched as EOS processed and catalogued the newly made connections.</p><p>“The pitch of the sound can’t be the only contributing factor. The amplitude of your playing has changed in a manner consistent with your stress levels. If there are direct connections to be made, is this another one?”</p><p>Virgil continued to play, soft and light as he analysed his own emotions. He’d forgotten where all this had begun.</p><p>“Not always,” he said. “But often. You can’t just look at one part. You have to take them in relationship to each other. The choice of instruments, the articulation, the rhythm, the harmony. It all combines to make something greater than it would be if only one form of expression was used.”</p><p>“Music mimics its makers.”</p><p>Virgil blinked.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“You are only one part. And you combine to make something greater than you would be alone.”</p><p>“I–”</p><p>A sharp buzzer jolted Virgil from his thoughts and he stared dumbly at the door.</p><p>“Virgil?”</p><p>The worry was evident in his brother’s voice as it crackled through the intercom. He spoke softly, cautious of interrupting Virgil but convinced of its necessity.</p><p>For a moment, he considered retreating into the bedroom, where he knew Scott would leave him be.</p><p>He didn’t want to leave his piano though. Not yet.</p><p>“Thank you EOS. You should go.”</p><p>He turned towards the door, raising his voice slightly.</p><p>“Come in.”</p><p>Scott slipped inside and shut the door firmly behind them. Virgil could smell the soap as he walked closer, the collar of his shirt wet from the hair he hadn’t quite finished drying.</p><p>“John called me when he couldn’t get a hold of you,” he said simply, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “And Gordon nearly dragged me out of the shower to come talk to you.”</p><p>“You could have spared an extra minute to dry off.”</p><p>“Whatever.” He picked at the pilled fabric of his trousers. “Was more worried about you.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“That’s not what I heard.”</p><p>Virgil didn’t know what to say. He had been angry, hurting, <em>grieving</em>. The ache was still present in his chest, but he wasn’t sure how to explain to Scott how already the solace he found in music was beginning to take effect. Scott wasn’t dismissive of his love of art but his experiences were firmly rooted in a more concrete reality.</p><p>“I was talking to EOS.”</p><p>The expression on Scott’s face was unreadable.</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“She asked for more information about my… outburst.” Virgil turned to face the piano so he wouldn’t have to look his brother in the eye. “We talked about music. I explained how I was feeling.”</p><p>“Did it help?”</p><p>Virgil closed his eyes and listened. There was melancholy there, a rough bittersweetness that underpinned the soft, sad acceptance of the events of the day.</p><p>But there was a restful peace there too, a flowing movement of sound that had begun to grow louder with the reminder that he wasn’t isolated in his emotions.</p><p>The framework for a new composition.</p><p>“Yeah, Scott, it did. She did.”</p><p>Virgil rested his hands on the piano.</p><p>“Stay a while. I want to play something for you.”</p><p>
  <b>————————————————————————</b>
</p><p>
  <em>“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>~ Victor Hugo </em>
  </b>
  <a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchive.org%2Fdetails%2Fcu31924013149137%2Fpage%2Fn119%2Fmode%2F2up&amp;t=OWUwYTEzN2FjMzY2NDhiYTY0NDZmZmMzMTE0NDQzYTI1MzI1MjA5NixsUktGUktKeg%3D%3D&amp;b=t%3AYg4bFY6yMk3YlnTo43NP6A&amp;p=https%3A%2F%2Feastertag.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F615156240965943296%2Ftracybirds-gift-for-overlordraax-dissonance&amp;m=1">
    <b>
      <em>(Essay on William Shakespeare)</em>
    </b>
  </a>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Strongly advise you don't bother to read the Victor Hugo essay, because the quote is fantastic and the work itself is TOTAL drivel (reading the contemporary reviews utterly roasting VH honestly made my day when I first read them).</p><p>uhhhh anyhow...<br/>Cross posted on Tumblr, original posted on 13/04/2020</p></blockquote></div></div>
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